


cherry girl

by InkWitch (serkestic)



Category: The Half of It (2020)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Canon Divergence, Ellie Chu & Paul Munsky Friendship, F/F, no beta we die like men, tackling internalized comphet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:08:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26073937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serkestic/pseuds/InkWitch
Summary: Dear Aster,Everything beautiful is ruined eventually. And I’m sorry that this will be.UnsignedIn which the confrontation in the church does not happen, Aster and Paul begin to date, and a last letter is delivered.
Relationships: Ellie Chu & Paul Munsky, Ellie Chu/Aster Flores
Comments: 16
Kudos: 122





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Rina Sawayama's [cherry](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H5P6GlrF3oE) because it is basically Aster Flores' theme song ~~change my mind~~. I have [another one](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25769923). They are unrelated.

Dear Aster,

Everything beautiful is ruined eventually. And I’m sorry that this will be.

Unsigned

* * *

On the last day of her senior year, Aster Flores woke up on the wrong side of bed. She cracked her lateral malleolus on the corner of her bedstead, jabbed her fore toe in succession, and then flung her elbow into the water jug on her bedside table, causing it to throw its remaining water onto the clothes her mother had carefully picked out, ironed and laid out on her desk chair the night before. With no small irony, her iPhone screen lit up with her alarm, cheerfully proclaiming: “last day high school, first day freedom”. She now wished that her past self had added a question mark.

What did she know about freedom anyhow?

The phone screen lit up with a notification, wiping away the misjudged reminder. A message from Paul glowed blue from Messenger; he never used Ghost Messenger anymore. He’d said his account got hacked. It made sense, because occasionally Aster would send emojis or a sporadic _hey_ to SmithCorona, and the Seen tick meant that _someone_ was reading her messages. Aster opened the bubble.

> PAUL 6:55 AM  
>  **Aster, I have to say sorry. I mean I am sorry. We need to talk about something.**

She read over the message two more times, then sat on her bed and puzzled. Was it just her… or did those sound like break up words?

She had never broken up with anyone… much like how she had never really _gotten together_ with anyone. Trig had chosen her as his girlfriend and that was their story; they had ended without fanfare, when Trig became distracted with the idea of the newly interesting Ellie Chu. Then Paul stepped in, bringing her a bouquet of daisies and grass, and blinking his brown doe eyes as he said, “I’m so sorry, Aster.” He’d kissed Ellie Chu—and something in her vaguely pointed out that she did not know whom to be mad at, about that kiss—out of confusion, because he misunderstood his feelings. He was so grateful to Ellie, for being his friend, for putting up with him and helping him and… “And I’m sorry,” Paul had said, his fist making the flowers tremble slightly. “Can we talk?”

Aster was never much good at feelings. In lieu of examining hers, she had agreed, and somehow, she became _Munsky’s girl_. She rode to school in Paul’s brother’s old jeep, sat in the bleachers behind the cheerleaders, did her homework in the music room while Paul’s training grunts echoed in from outside. And when Paul held her, gingerly, like he wasn’t quite sure that she was really there, she felt cosy. Something in her pointed out that she was bored. She ignored it with some confusion.

The worst part was the letters had to stop. And with it, Paul had stopped—his boldness, his clarity of feeling, all that she had once access to. Now that they were together, Paul was more unsure, quieter, speaking the most with his eyes and smiles. Aster always felt discomfited with the sudden looks of guilt and fear in Paul’s eyes, though he never acted like it. She could tell that she was lounging on a golden pedestal in Paul’s head.

Suddenly, Aster felt exhausted. Practically irritated. If Paul had finally found his words around her, only to knock her down, then better that than the perpetual parade of worshipping boys. She _lusted_ for frankness.

With a defiant glare, Aster tapped out a reply. She barely restrained herself from throwing her phone away.

> DiegoRivera  
>  **Okay, you want to talk. Then talk.  
>  If you’re ready to ruin my last day of high school, Paul, by all means, go ahead. But I have things to say too.**

Aster began her last day in the world of low-stakes-drama and high-stakes-emotion with thunder inside her.

> SmithCorona  
>  **This isn’t Paul.**

Flat like a balloon, punctured air whistling out of her sails: Aster sat through the last homeroom feeling unmoored. He really _had_ been hacked. Around her, people were celebrating and sentimentalizing. Her gaggle of girlfriends surrounded her desk, chattering excitedly and ignoring her own silent demeanour. They were used to Aster. For a minute, Aster wondered at herself: why wasn’t _she_ excited? Was she actually dreading talking with Paul that much?

She had expected him to come by before school, but he hadn’t. There had been some relief that she didn’t have to deal with that _before_ the day ended. But now this waiting seemed worse.

Her fingers itched to reply to SmithCorona again. But what would talking to a hacker do? She felt heartbroken, for some reason. Their chat history on Ghost Messenger was a whole story, a part of her happiness with Paul—and now it was gone, stolen by a stranger. On a sudden internal decision, Aster downloaded the chat backup and deleted their history entirely. Then she blocked SmithCorona.

She found Paul waiting for her by her locker.

“Hey,” she smiled at him, “where’ve you been…?” There was a marked envelope in his hands, the edges curled as if it had gotten wet. Aster raised her eyes slowly to his.

“Aster,” said Paul, nervous and shifting his feet every two seconds. “I lied to you.” He waited for a crowd of rowdy seniors to pass by, unaware of how instantly Aster’s palms had begun to sweat. He looked her in the eye, at least.

“I never wrote those letters,” he said.

She straightened out the edges of the last letter with the flat of her nail. She went over them again and again, until they drooped flat almost wearily. Then she traced the ink bleeding through the soft paper with her fingertip, pretending that she could feel the words embossed.

No _Paul_ signed off in a scribble.

Because Paul had not written it. He had never written any of it, only copied them out in his handwriting, but this handwriting was different and not his. Cramped. Desperate; the last letters messily out of shape.

Aster tried to muster anger.

How dare they? How dare they do this—make a fool of her, lie to her, treat her like a prize to be cajoled and won? How dare they gaze at her eyes and hair and face and pretend to know the thoughts behind them?

She had slapped Paul. She had swung her arm out like a whip and cracked her palm on his cheek so hard, she felt the sting of it the rest of the day. It was satisfying; Paul fell into the lockers, shocked and in tears; but he had bent his head and answered none of her questions.

_Who wrote them then? Who has she been spilling her secrets to like an absolute idiot?_

“This was the last letter,” he had said, pressing it into her hands. She almost tore it up in his face. “I didn’t give it to you because—I’m a coward.” He had looked miserable, his expression as transparent as ever.

“I love you, Aster,” he’d said. “But I don’t think I’m any good at loving you. You deserve better.” She should have slapped him again for that.

She sat in her second-to-last class in high school with a flux of emotions spinning through her in repeat: rage then sorrow then confusion then humiliation then rage, screaming breaking-things rage. The worst one was curiosity. She was frantic to know the writer of the letters.

Their last letter was clearly a goodbye. A cowardly one that did not plan to own up to anything. Paul flocked to birds of a feather, apparently.

Perhaps she should just give up and say good riddance. High school was ending. This chapter of her life was coming to a close. She could leave this petty messiness behind in it and never look back.

Instead, Aster unblocked SmithCorona.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know nothing about the American school year etc., and don’t feel like doing research to make the timeline fit. So please excuse any mistakes!
> 
> Thank you for waiting for my snail pace writing. Y'all are appreciated so much, trust me.

The rain splattered around her cabin, fogging up the windows. She curled into her uncomfortable chair and couldn’t pay attention to her book; so instead, she watched the storm break around her. It was only when Ellie’s phone vibrated in her jacket that she untangled her limbs and woke up. The rain would drench her in seconds and she had to serve dinner today.

She wrung water out of her hair before tracking mud inside. Her father’s eyes narrowed at her and she said in Mandarin, “I know, I’ll clean it up right away, it’s _raining_ Baba.” He responded with a snort.

They still ate in front of the TV, but at least he dressed for the day now. There was always an excited energy in him when they spoke about college, even though Ellie herself felt fear clutch at her throat. How on earth would she leave him behind? It was unfathomable to her; but her father took it for granted, and spoke sentimentally about his own university days. She wished she could bring him with her. But she knew she could never grow up with him nearby.

During dinner, he said in English, “There is a girl looking for you.”

“What? Who?” asked Ellie. Her extremities had gone cold.

DiegoRivera’s text still sat in her inbox, bolded and unread. She couldn’t bring herself to uninstalling the app, even after everything, but had reread their chat history time and again. But even that was gone, with Aster’s accusatory query going ignored.

Ellie was a hypocrite. She’d accused Paul of being a fake, by having her write his love letters; but she’d used him to court her crush and ran away when he saw the truth on her face. And now, more running away.

That letter was never meant to be _sent_. It was a thing of rage, not love; it was the only letter she’d written for Paul, fingers cramping as she wrote, almost digging her pen nib into the paper. Paul’s mouth had been so soft against hers. His eyes had not carried a whit of it. Her tears that night had bound tight into a cluster in her chest, and she had gritted her teeth against letting them fall. What irony: that a boy would break her heart when she was pining after a girl.

There was some satisfaction in the pale shadow of Aster next to Paul’s, in her last months of high school. He had not pulled out the fervent Aster that she and her letters had. Only she knew the Aster who drew dancing girls on walls, who hid her church in the forest glade.

Baba was watching her… his eyes travelled over her face and he didn’t seem to like what he saw. But his words were mild as he turned back to the TV. “You’re not a cowardly girl, Ellie. It’s your turn to clean the dishes tonight.”

Ellie wore less layers in her summer before college. The heat of self-consciousness stained her neck when she perused in the thrift-stores, instead of grabbing the first baggy shirts she liked from the men’s section. But she knew that she didn’t want to hide anymore, not in college. Besides, she would always have her safety sweatshirts if needed. Investing in reds and pinks and crop-tops won’t kill her.

Staring at her bare skin in the trial rooms might. She resisted the urge to stretch the t-shirt over her arms. Ellie closed her eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. When she opened them, her skin itched less, her stomach was still leaden, but she stood taller in front of the mirror. Ellie thought to herself, _I don’t look terrible, and that’s to start with_.

All the same, she bundled up the clothes and stalked to the racks to replace them.

She found Aster at the men’s section, staring with unfocused gaze at striped baggy shirts. Ellie froze, deer in her headlights, and their eyes met. In the hair-raising second that Ellie considered throwing the shirts in the air and dashing away in the confusion, a comical _poof!_ floating behind her, the decision was made for her startlingly quick when Aster focused on her and walked over.

And despite the panic that froze breath in her throat, Ellie couldn’t help checking her out. Aster’s wavy hair pulled back into a messy bun, nestled at the back of her neck; she was wearing an oversized men’s button-down, the collar pulled back to expose her nape and yellow bra-straps; it was scandalizing and titillating in all the worst ways Ellie could think of. In the moments it took Aster to cross the floor to her, Ellie let herself admit that she’d had hazy heat-driven dreams about that soft nape and spent nights wondering what perfume Aster wore. _Okay, now stop being a sleaze!_

“Hello,” said Aster, with a quizzical smile. “Can we talk?”

They shared a table outside the only bakery in their tiny town. She’d bought a cupcake with strawberry frosting that was already melting when Aster insisted; her crush—oh god? Do we use that word now? Oh, god, Ellie’s _crush_ —had bought a fudge brownie, stolid and rich. It had only been a week or so since graduation, but it still felt odd and different in a nostalgic way. She remembered the one afternoon they spent together, suspended in water and shared silence, and she felt her heart choke when Aster looked over her with suspicion tightening her face.

“I don’t know if you know,” Aster started lightly, “but Paul broke up with me.”

There was a pause. Ellie realized she was meant to fill it. “Oh,” she said, hastily fashioning a sympathetic tone. “No, I hadn’t heard. I’m sorry, are you okay?”

“You haven’t heard?” asked Aster. She was watching Ellie closely.

“No… I don’t pay attention to the gossip grapevine much.”

“Huh. So, he didn’t dump me for you,” said Aster in a musing manner. Ellie choked on air.

“ _What?_ ” she gasped. “Me? Paul and me? But—”

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t imagine you two kissing, that time.”

Dear _god_ did she not miss high school and the petty drama of who-likes-who. Albeit this feeling of superiority is supremely unearned when Ellie had been the one using a puppy-hearted himbo to catfish and date the girl she liked. Remembering that kiss—and Aster’s stark-white face as she stared at them—and what followed made Ellie flinch. She dropped her gaze to her cupcake, the frosting now wilting and dripping grossly. She wasn’t going to eat that.

“He kissed me,” said Ellie. She wanted to sound defensive but it only came out tired. “We were just friends. We played ping-pong together, he borrowed books from me, I invited him to dinner a few times. Paul isn’t very smart; he just confused his feelings.” What a concise summation of Ellie’s only friendship ‘til date, sans the homophobia and humiliating end. Ellie figured that she was going to have trust issues for life now, probably. She felt somewhat resentful at Aster for drawing this out of her, when she’d spent weeks pushing her feelings and hurt where she didn’t have to deal with them. But Aster was what brought her and Paul together; if Ellie and Paul’s relationship had been the only real one in this whole mess of a love triangle, that could hardly be the fault of the girl they both liked.

The girl Ellie still liked. “Don’t call him that,” Aster said. “Liking and loving are confusing regardless, and Paul isn’t stupid.” She frowned at her fingers, tapping them lightly on the table. “He told me as much and I believe him. I just wanted to hear it from you.”

“What about you?”

Aster blinked. “What about me?”

“Did you…” Ellie pulled her hands underneath the table and clasped them. “Did you like Paul? Or love him?”

Aster was smiling quizzically again. She looked away from Ellie, casting her gaze across the street, where the hardware store displayed a loud and entirely ugly sale sign for rubber hoses. Two whole minutes passed in silence, which Ellie spent wondering if she’d made a terrible faux pas by asking about Paul.

“I think,” said Aster. “I wanted to fall in love with him. But not the right version of him.”

She was still turned away from Ellie, seemingly speaking to herself. But when Aster turned back, her gaze landed solidly on Ellie and beseeched her. “He hired someone to write love letters to me. He told me the truth. Do you… know who it is? The letter writer?”

Here was a moment. Perhaps _the_ moment. Baba had _said_ that she was not a coward. She’d never had cause to disbelieve him before.

“No, I don’t,” said Ellie.

The girl she’d deceived and lied and told secrets to nodded her head. Her shoulders dropped. “Will you help me find them?” Aster asked.

Ellie had to make her own moment. She had to at least try, after everything.

“Yes,” she said.

> DiegoRivera  
>  **Why did you write me love letters?**

> ASTER 10:05 PM  
>  **We need to go to the library tomorrow. I’ll drive.  
>  Do you even _know_ how to drive…?**

> PAUL 3:55 AM  
>  **U up?**

Ellie blinked sleep from her eyes and looked at her window, which was producing a gentle _tap-tap_ every few minutes. Paul stood outside. He was wearing his butcher smock, twisting his pinkie finger and cracking his knuckles nervously. The next pebble he flicked up hit the corner of her window sill just as she shoved it open.

“Are you aware that it’s _four_ in the morning?” said Ellie in a low and dangerous voice. Paul winced.

“Uh,” he said. Scratched the back of his neck and blinked a couple of times. “Can we… uh… I’d like to apologize. And say some stuff. If that’s okay with you?”

“Will you be continuing this sad sack Romeo shtick unless I agree?” asked Ellie.

“This isn’t me coercing you or whatever,” said Paul, back to twisting his pinkie. “But I might forget what I want to say exactly. You know. And it’s weird to write it down, since…” He gestured a ‘well you know’ shrug at her.

“ _God_ ,” said Ellie. “No more letters. I’m coming down, give me ten minutes.”

She took twenty just to spite him. The sky wasn’t even light yet. Granted, Paul was not supposed to know that she had only fallen asleep an hour ago, eyes overstrained and refusing to keep watching shitty romcoms, but he was a teenager too! He should be aware of the summer holiday code of not sleeping until it’s borderline self-harm.

He smelled vaguely like meat when she met him at her doorstep, pulling her scuffed sneakers on. And there was that smock. Maybe he’d been up too.

“Look, I—” started Paul, but Ellie shunted him to the side and beckoned him to follow. They tramped together to her booth, from which she grabbed a blanket and threw it over her shoulders before settling down in the seat and looking owlishly up at him through the open door. Paul watched her, with a soft devastation in his eyes.

“Ellie,” he said, “can you ever forgive me?”

It was the lack of an excuse. It was his arms hanging loose by his sides, making him seem like some deranged misplaced troglodyte. It was, perhaps, maybe, the warm brown of his eyes, his curls, and the smattering of freckles everywhere on his skin, that she’d made a part of her faded mid-tone background of a life. Whichever it was, Ellie felt heat climb up her throat and hit her sinuses with a bang. The tears spilled out remorselessly.

“You wouldn’t even _look_ at me,” she said, trying hard to lock the sobs in her chest. Her last days of high school flashed through her head: back to hiding in corners, watching the spotlight follow her one and only friend, who would not meet her gaze, or cross her locker, but still pelted the jeep that yelled slurs at her. Who _does_ that? “You made me invisible again.” It didn’t matter that the talent show had eased her classmates into acknowledging her more, not when her best friend vibrated with rage and betrayal and _kissed her crush_. She’d gone home feeling listless and throwing all her time into writing new letters, begging colleges to take her away. How much does a poet’s voice derive from the grief or the loneliness? At least Ellie had always been good at spinning bullshit; acceptances soon sat on her desk, her father smug and quietly satisfied. And then, it brought her out of her sad shell for a few moments to realize that her one and only friend would grudge over something she had no control over, how she _loved_ and _felt_ , and spite took over. She penned her last “love letter”, labelled it for Paul and shoved it among the Munsky’s mail. Paul could pretend he had Aster and he could date her and hold her and plan his future, but she’d be damned if he’d think that it was anything _real_.

Paul stood helplessly. He raised his arms, and then dropped them like he’d thought better of it.

He swallowed and his Adam’s apple bounced. “I didn’t… I was so upset. This will sound so dumb and pathetic.”

“ _You’re_ dumb and pathetic,” said Ellie nastily, and then promptly sneezed away the bite of her words.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah… I really am. I just. Ellie, will you hear me out without making fun of me? And just, fully recognize that I’m saying it now knowing what a douche I was.”

The worst part was that she missed him. _Damn, friendship makes us suckers_ , she thought, and nodded at Paul.

He began squatting, like he was trying rid himself of nervous energy. “Okay, first off, I found your letters.”

“Paul, I _gave you the letters_ —”

“No, not the Aster letters,” he interrupted her. “The sausage letters. After the party, when you were sleeping, I picked up your bag and they fell out. You never told me about them.

“That’s not an accusation!” Paul said hurriedly when he saw Ellie opening her mouth. “I just, mean, I found them and I realized what you’d done and I felt so grateful… I just couldn’t believe you would do that, when I hadn’t even asked you to. It felt like you were taking care of me, and,” here he paused awkwardly, settling on the ground and looking away from her, “no one really… pays attention to me. But you did. And then at the game it kinda felt like I won because… of you. Because you were there and you kinda are a lucky charm or something.

“I just never realised how happy I’ve been, the months that we’ve been friends,” said Paul abruptly. “And then I suddenly did, and I thought, maybe I’m in love with the wrong girl.”

_Oh. Shit._

Ellie could feel her eyes widen and cheeks blush but Paul was steadfastly not looking at her. He pulled and cracked his knuckles, as he rushed on, almost stumbling over his words. “So, I kissed you, because it kinda looked like you wanted me to, but obviously you didn’t and it was because _I_ wanted to. And then you… your face…”

He raised his head. “You looked like you’d just been dumped.”

She couldn’t help flinching at that. The sting of that moment never died, from Paul’s incredulous expression to Aster’s cold and shattered one. In one single mistake, all their lies stared them in the face, a collective misery.

“When I realised you liked Aster, I just…? I don’t know. I felt betrayed. I felt rejected, as dumb as that sounds. And I also felt used.” Her head was hurting and she felt sick with guilt in a way she’d avoided examining all this time. “Suddenly it was like, it made sense that you never wanted me and Aster to meet up. I mean, yeah, it was going to go horribly because of how dumb I am, but you said that one time that this _was_ dating and it just clicked. You were using me to get to Aster.”

Ellie’s subterfuge was always tissue-thin. It was only because of Paul’s trust that she’d manage to hold it up that long anyway. Her poor soft-hearted friend hung his head in front of her. “It just sucked, it sucked so much, and I didn’t know how to _say_ all that, and I was so sad. And ignorant, yeah. It spilled out, you going to hell, but I didn’t mean it _that_ way. I meant it, but in a ‘fuck you’ kind of way.

“You know?” said Paul.

“Shit. Yeah,” she said. “Paul, I’m—"

“I’m sorry I made it about me.”

She was crying again. They spilled out her eyes out of control and she kept rubbing them away before they tracked down her cheeks. Paul looked lost and guilty again. Ellie shook her head, slowly, and then violently, rubbing her face.

“It’s okay. I made it about me first.”

“Can I… hug you?” he asked awkwardly. She nodded violently; and stepped into his smock.

The meaty smell intensified but she was busy sobbing to notice it too much. Apologies spilled out incoherently because she was still full of guilt and _I suck_ _so much_ and _we suck_ and _I can’t believe I’m crying because of a boy when I’m a lesbian!_ but Paul just patted her head and folded her into a tight hug. A tiny curious part of her wanted to ask—are you still in love with me?—but she squashed it down because they owed nothing but caring.

Later, they sat on the train tracks watching the sun come up, the clouds all silver and pink hues. Paul told her about giving Aster her last letter and his reason: “It was always gonna be you and her. I’m just taking myself out of the equation.” He didn’t have to tell her that it was akin to pitching her into the lioness’ den; she didn’t say that she wasn’t ready to face up to herself or Aster. Ellie let herself feel content for once. There would be more ping-pong and sniping at each other and sausages. Which reminded her.

“Just so you know,” said Ellie. “You owe me a lifetime of free sausage.”

“That’s bad for business, Ellie,” said Paul. But he was smiling.

“So is homophobia,” she said flippantly. “Free sausage or I cancel you.”

“God forbid.”

> SmithCorona  
>  **Because I was asked to. Because I didn’t get what love was.  
>  Because I kinda thought I loved you.  
> These are all shitty reasons.**
> 
> DiegoRivera **  
> At least you’re self-aware.**
> 
> SmithCorona  
>  **…  
>  It was real for me. I’m just a goddamn idiot.**
> 
> DiegoRivera  
>  **Give yourself some credit.  
>  It’s the 21st century and you still chose to catfish me via snail mail.  
> There’s maybe an iota of intelligence mixed in there. Somewhere.**
> 
> SmithCorona  
>  **Wow.  
>  Like. Yikes.  
> You really aren’t pulling punches.**
> 
> DiegoRivera  
>  **You still haven’t apologized, why should I stop being a bitch?**
> 
> SmithCorona  
>  **You still want my apology? I figured you’d rather I disappeared.**
> 
> DiegoRivera  
>  **No that’s what _you’d_ rather. That’s the catfishing M.O.  
> But no, I don’t want your apology.  
> Tell me who you are.  
> I deserve that.**
> 
> SmithCorona  
>  **…  
>  What if I disappoint you even more if you knew who I am?**
> 
> DiegoRivera  
>  **If it was real. You won’t.**


	3. out of focus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A companion piece to **cherry girl** , in which Paul Munsky reflects on his love for two girls.

It’s not often that Paul finds himself at a crossroads. He prefers not to complicate his decisions with choices. To be fair, there have never been enough choices to complicate his life in the first place. Life was a road well-taken, a dusty worn routine that smacked of indulgence as much as it did constraint. Therefore, he does not spend much time with thoughts and choosing.

Asking Ellie Chu to help put words to a frustrated tangle of warmth in his chest: this is his first time choosing.

Loving Aster was not a choice either. No one could help loving Aster. She was kind and quiet and stood apart even when she was surrounded by the sheep of high school. Paul heard Aster sing the one time and he fell into it, head-long and no questioning, a crush that made him grin every day he woke up. Suddenly his family wasn’t too pushy, suddenly doing drills wasn’t game made chore, suddenly Paul thought about something and someone.

And he thought to himself, _I don’t know how I would even start._

And it wasn’t complicated, deciding to ask for help. He wasn’t good at this thing, so he’ll find someone good at it. He didn’t figure it could _get_ complicated, involving another person and their messiness, what with his own default messiness already… there. Ellie Chu offered her writing services and he needed a writer. He needed her smart brain to make sense of his dumb thoughts. When Ellie said to him that his kind of loving was true, it sank into his chest, and for the first time he thought, _maybe… I’m not dumb. I have something to offer too_.

He was exhausted at the idea of a life written into stone already. It cracked when he asked for Ellie’s help, it cracked again when he kissed Aster, and then it cracked a third time when he looked up at Ellie’s yellow-and-shadow window and her singing floated down to him, lilting and heartbroken. It broke the simplicity of his world.

See, there was something simple about loving Aster. She was beautiful, kind, and a girl. What more was needed? He looked at her and saw angels singing, flowers blooming, the world getting a few tints brighter. But when Paul looked at Ellie, a different spell held him. There was an immediacy and a realness to her that hooked into his heart. She was snarky, smart, but she was naïve, insecure; and she was selfish, kind, and she helped him and betrayed him with her pen. Seeing her cheering for him made his insides leap. Kissing her made his hands shake and heat squirm in his stomach. And when Paul saw that she was unreachable to him in a way no one could help, he was… he was…

He was angry.

Who was she to complicate his love?

And…

Who was he to complicate hers?

Paul saw it in Aster’s face, the searching and disappointment. He held her hand in his as if she could pull away any moment and he would have no choice but to let her. It was still so, _so_ easy, the two of them. Aster his girlfriend, Paul her boyfriend: a two-plus-two equation. If guilt bubbled up every once in a while, it didn’t stop him from telling her he loved her. Paul practiced it in front of the mirror until it didn’t sound unsure anymore.

Although, every time Paul said, “Aster, I love you,” she only smiled and gripped his hand.

Ellie’s last letter for him was only a reminder, but it reminded him that he always had a choice. He could choose to be an asshole or he could choose to break his heart once, no, well, twice. And it was always easier to be an asshole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ngl, I lost inspiration for this fic so it got hard to write for it. The last chapter will just be a bow on top; it's coming soon, fingers crossed! Thank you for reading this unfinished work and waiting <3


End file.
